


From Eden

by kaientai



Series: Small Death and the Codeine Scene [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Cheating, F/M, Smut, Unhealthy Relationships, cheating is bad, don't do this IRL kids
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-31
Updated: 2019-08-31
Packaged: 2020-09-30 17:44:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20451053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaientai/pseuds/kaientai
Summary: You say his name like he's a foreigner's god—someone you shouldn't be praising, yet you crave for the most.





	From Eden

**Author's Note:**

> This was a request on Tumblr that I was real pumped to write, but also a bit hesitant. Also we know Daishou is a BIG DORK behind that asshole facade of his, but what if he's a little more sinister if someone he loves dearly (in this case, Mika) betrays his trust?

The sky outside is overcast, promising the arrival of the storm that's been brewing over the past week. Your bedroom has darkened several shades as the threat of rain closed in, yet you couldn't be bothered to peel yourself away from the sheets to turn on your bedside lamp. Not when there's a statuesque figure dozing softly beside you with an unfamiliar serenity on his face that you'd prefer not to disturb. 

Your eyes then wander onto the nightstand where a framed picture of you and Kuroo sits idly in the scarce lighting. How long has it been since that photo was taken? Two, three years? You aren't very sure, but you are, however, certain that in times like this, it's supposed to be facing downwards, away from view. 

The stress that you've been accumulating over the past week was the prime suspect for your forgetfulness, you suppose. Once the announcement for class suspensions was disseminated on-campus, you immediately rushed back to your apartment to catch up on a few hours of sleep, only to find one man quietly sitting by the foot of your bed as he stared into the same, dreary horizon outside your window. That man was _not_ Kuroo because Kuroo was patient, whereas Daishou was not. The moment the door to your bedroom clicked shut, he pounced at you in a way a predator would after diligently waiting for prey to lurk into his territory. Your back had collided against the door, and you were completely under his mercy as he whispered all the filthy things he wanted to do to you through open-mouthed kisses. 

Heavy raindrops began to pelt against the window, one-by-one at first until it became a cacophony of sounds that's nearly deafening. A sigh tears its way from your lips as you let yourself stare at the tousled, viridian hair that's pooling on top of the dented pillow beneath Daishou's head. Lightning streaks across the sky in the preceding moment, illuminating the glistening sheen that still mattes his pale flesh. His breaths are deep enough that you can tell that he's definitely asleep, and there's something about the steady rise and fall of his chest that ensnares your gaze on his peaceful form. 

When a clap of thunder booms throughout the room, it makes Daishou stir ever-so-slightly, face twisting with resistance as he turns to his side. It grants you a full view of his back and the way the muscled expanse of skin ripples at the effort of finding another comfortable position. A prickle of heat boils in your chest when you hear him murmuring something incoherent amidst his slumber before the room lapses into another bout of silence, save for the downpour that persisted across the city. You force yourself to swallow the lump in your throat as you hesitantly reach a hand towards him, fingers gently toying with the silken tufts of his hair. The reaction it garners is nothing short of endearing—the tension in his shoulders ebbing away at your minimal touch.

The wealth of happiness that fills you was but a pinprick of a sensation, one that's easily overwritten by a too-familiar dread that sinks its claws into your skin every time you let yourself think of the man next to you as more than just a source of the affection you craved (but never received) from your boyfriend. Because that's all Daishou was supposed to be, wasn't he? A substitute for a devotion left unfulfilled? 

You ignore the slide of smooth sheets as it slips down from your chest, quietly padding closer to the window. You know Daishou well enough that you could gauge from his snores alone that he wouldn't be waking up any time soon. The soreness of your muscles and the slick that still drenched your thighs is a testament to the prior effort he'd exerted. You lift your head to watch the rivulets of rain bead down the glass, branching off in several directions at once. The awareness that your unit isn't placed in a very high vantage point lingers in the back of your head. But you pay it no mind, even if the off-chance that Kuroo might just suddenly decide to drop by comes to fruition. But the complacence is only there because you know, right this moment, Kuroo is committing just as grave a sin as you have somewhere uptown, where that pretty med student from Miyagi is renting an extravagant penthouse. What's her name again? Kiyoko? You don't really know, nor do you want the confirmation.

As far as infidelity goes, you're quite certain that you're doing the worst of the two evils even if Kuroo is the first to play his cards dirty. At least he chose someone that didn't have any ties with the both of you prior to his unfaithfulness. Out of all the men you could have approached in your search for solace when you accidentally found out about what your boyfriend was doing behind your back, it just _had_ to be his high school rival.

"Hey." 

You startle at the rough, sleep-laden voice that resounds from behind you, but you don't spare Daishou so much as a backwards glance. The sheets rustle at his groggy movement, and you can hear his footsteps coming closer until you can feel the heat coming off his skin. His breath fans against the hollow of your neck where he lazily latches his teeth over the thrum of your pulse, deft fingers tugging your hips closer to his. 

"I thought you were out cold," you tell him with a breathless moan when he roughly bites down on your neck.

You can feel him grin against your skin, swiping his tongue over the spot he'd just bitten. "You were thinking too loud. It woke me up from my beauty sleep. Pretty rude, if you ask me." 

Unable to suppress the chuckle that's bubbling in your chest, you let your head fall back on his shoulder, giving him more leeway to litter your neck with a motley of future bruises that you'd have to conceal with scarves and turtlenecks for at least a week. This goes on for a while until you could feel the hardness of his cock press imposingly against your ass. But before you could get the chance to comment on his sudden vigour, he asks, "What's on your mind, hm?" 

"This and that," you offer nonchalantly. "Nothing you should worry about." 

Daishou hums, the sound reverberating across his chest as he detaches his lips from your skin. "You're making that face though."

"What face?"

"You know, the one you always make when you're second-guessing this whole arrangement." 

You blink for a moment, realising that you still had a bad habit of undermining Daishou's ability to read people like open books. Deciding that there's no use concealing your thoughts from him when it's so evident in your own body language, you turn to face him, reaching up to curl your fingers in his hair before softly pressing your mouth to his slightly chapped lips. He tenses for a fraction of a second at the unexpected gesture. But Daishou eventually lets himself loose in the feeling of your teeth tugging at the lower line of his lip, groaning in approval. 

When you pull away, much to his dismay, you stare at him like you're trying to figure him out. 

"How do you do it?" 

He quirks an eyebrow at you. "Do what?" 

You flop your arms across your chest as you shift your gaze back to the rainy skyline of Tokyo. (The way your movement tantalisingly presses your breasts together a little difficult to ignore.) "How do you live with the guilt of knowing that you're doing the exact same thing Mika-chan's doing to you?" 

"I'd hardly call what I feel _guilt_." He laughs airily, snaking an arm around your waist before pulling you flush against his chest. "It's more like poetic justice, really. 

You frown at him. "How is it justice when she doesn't even know her precious Suguru is up to?" 

Daishou's mouth twitches into a smile that crinkles his eyes while his hands move slowly to the apex of your thighs, stroking the wiry hairs that coiled across your sex. "I don't really know the nuances, myself." He leans closer to you ear and drops his voice an octave lower. "All I know is that we both want them to have a taste of their own medicine whether or not they know about it." 

"W-What's the point if—_nggh!_—they don't know, then?" you ask him shakily as Daishou nudges your folds apart and slicks the pads of his fingers with your juices. He uses his free arm to support your weight when your hips buck into his hand. 

"You're asking me that _now_?" He chuckles darkly, thumbing your clit with agonising figure-eights. "But if you want a straight-up answer, then there's an appeal to it, I guess—taking care of a pretty, committed woman while her lover is balls-deep into someone else; while my own lets herself come on some other asshole's dick." 

"God, you have a sailor's mouth," you groan as he plunges a finger into your weeping hole with ease. 

He smirks. "You weren't complaining when I was going down on you the other night, now were you?" Daishou slides in a second finger and your walls instinctively clench around his slender digits. The pace he's set is languid, but it makes your knees buckle underneath you, prompting you to brace your palms across the windowpane. 

"Aren't you an exhilarating sight?" he praises, swathing his tongue across the shell of your ear as your toes curl into the cold floor. "Getting finger-fucked right where everyone can see. What would good ol' Kuroo say if he sees his woman spread open for me like this?" 

When Daishou curls his digits right where you want him to, softly grazing that spot inside that made stars burst across your line of sight, you're unable to suppress the high-pitched keen that bubbles in your throat. "P-Please, Suguru… More!"

"I asked you a question," he reminds, toying with your clit in unison with his thrusts. "If you want more, you have to be a good girl and answer when someone asks you something." To make a point, Daishou halts his ministrations entirely, eliciting a disappointed whine from you. 

"I don't care!" you practically scream. "Just please, _please_ make me come, Suguru." 

There's a mocking intonation that accompanies the sound of his laughter, but you couldn't bring yourself to care, thrusting your hips into his hands to encourage more friction. Catching you by surprise, Daishou shoves in a third finger into your weeping cunt, and his emission from your earlier tryst makes the slide a lot easier than expected. 

"Look at you, panting like a bitch in heat and I haven't even used my cock," he taunts, one hand shifting to roughly roll one of your nipples between his fingers. "You get off on this don't you? Letting another man defile you in ways Kuroo won't even begin to think about?"

His words should sting—you _know_ they should. But the need to feel something akin to remorse is eclipsed by the arousal that's dripping down your thighs as Daishou steadily builds the foundations of your impending orgasm. His talent for manipulating people to his will on a volleyball court branches off to his other agendas, and you can't really say you're putting up a good fight.

Just when you're already feeling the sweet release about to boil over beneath your skin, Daishou withdraws his fingers. As your lips frame around a helpless plea, he roughly grabs your wrist and manhandles you back onto your bed. The mattress dips further once Daishou slots himself in between your legs, slanted eyes roving over your pliant form beneath him. 

"Tell me what you want," he says, the way he gently strokes your hair a stark contrast to his earlier mercilessness. 

"Fuck me open, Suguru," is your breathless reply. "I want your come inside me." 

He chuckles, leaning closer as he teasingly rubs the head of his cock over your swollen clit. "A minute ago you were being consumed by your guilt again, no? What happened? What made you so _depraved_ all of a sudden?" 

Having him this close to you lets you get a whiff of the faint scent of that fancy perfume he practically bathes himself in whenever he wants to have his way with you. Given that you've been mating like rabbits practically all afternoon, the cologne was overshadowed by the scent of sweat and come. But the musk that clings to his skin sends your mind into a haze, and you're unable to resist the urge to lose yourself in your own lecherous desires. Coherent thought is almost nonexistent at this point—it's only you, Daishou, and the knot in your belly that aches to be undone. 

He promptly decides to be merciful, forgoing his teasing to line his cock with your wetness. Without any sort of preamble, he buries himself to the hilt, groaning at the way your walls accommodate him so well. You instinctively wrap your arms around his neck for purchase when his hands find their way to your hips with a grip that's meant to bruise.

"If you keep squirming like that I won't be able to last very long," he pants, holding your body in place as he pistons in and out of your sopping core. You're all too willing to heed his request, staying still as he uses you like a fuckdoll. 

Daishou's eyes flutter closed as he swears colourfully at your compliance. "You're such a good girl, aren't you? You're willing to do _anything_ to get fucked like the cockslut you are." He leans down to add more to your growing collection of hickeys, nipping the sensitive skin of your neck with the intent to leave his mark on you. Daishou paints you in reds and blues, swathing you with sentiment so tangible you can taste it on your tongue. You cling to him like he's the only force anchoring you to your own sanity, sinking your teeth into his shoulder as the rhythm of his thrusts seemingly brushes across every raw nerve-ending that thrums beneath your skin. 

He lifts your hips higher, angling you in a way that he brushes that same spot he never fails to find. You close your eyes, nails digging unforgivingly into his back as he plants pleasure so deep inside you that it would take days to sweat it out. Your leg catches on the picture frame on your nightstand and falls to the floor—the sound of shattering glass magnified over a hundred times. Daishou tenses at the interruption, and you're momentarily plucked out of your haze of depravity as well. But when he makes a guttural noise at the back of his throat, he forcibly drowns you back into mind-numbing pleasure when he makes one particularly hard thrust that makes you cry out in glee. 

All too soon, he takes his cock out of your slick heat, roughly moving you around so that your ass is in the air and your face is pressed on the unruly mattress. Daishou places a hand on the swell of your ass, giving it a hard smack that jerks you forward. Though you loath to admit, you can feel yourself growing even wetter at his rough treatment. 

"Who's making you feel good?" The question cuts sharply through your ears as he fists your hair in his fingers, tugging on it almost painfully. "Whose dick is going to make you come?" 

"Y-You!" you all but weep, fisting the sheets until your knuckles turn white with effort. "It's your cock splitting me in half. S-So fucking good—_oh_!" 

"Can your boyfriend turn you into a whore like this when you're alone with him? He can't, can he?" Daishou sneers in an almost sinister way. "I'm the _only one_ who can make you feel like this. You'll never want anyone else." 

If you were in a better state of mind, you would have scoffed and told him that he's being full of himself. Even if it's meant to spur you on, that's a bit of a tall assumption. But now, with saliva dribbling down your chin as you gasp yourself back into breathing, every word that comes out of his mouth is the gospel truth. When you're trapped between the jaws of his carnal ambition, there's no room for thinking things through anymore. 

"Suguru!" you say his name like he's a foreigner's god—someone you shouldn't be praising, yet you crave for the most. Something seems to snap inside him at the way the syllables of his name lolled from your tongue, and he sets a pace so punishing, it makes tears catch in the lines of your lashes.

It feels as if he's stolen your soul straight from your chest, but you'd gladly hand it over to him if it meant feeling like this for the rest of your days. Daishou fucks you like you're the only two people in the world—like you don't belong to someone else and neither does he. Reason is an active voice that speaks in the back of your mind, but it's always dulled whenever the man above you is generous enough to take care of you the way you deserve. You dare to look over your shoulder, expecting to see that wild, wrecked look on his face whenever he's inside of you. But instead, you notice that there's something different in his eyes this time, something almost broken but just as violent as the storm that's raging outside. 

"You're mine," he imposes forcefully as his thrusts went even deeper, hitting spots you never even knew existed. "I don't fucking care what anyone else says, you belong to _me_." 

The possessiveness in his tone is all it takes to bring you over the edge, and you can feel your pussy tightening around his hard cock, still pinpointing his own release without paying any mind if it would overstimulate you. Your body shakes and convulses, moving in a way it's never done before until you collapse boneless against the mattress. Your consciousness is in tatters and all you can do is breathe. 

Daishou uses you like a doll, driven by the sight of you collapsed half-unconscious beneath him. Your cunt is a wet, sopping mess between your legs and his passage is easy and slick. He fucks you like a sinner that doesn't want to be forgiven, his skin searing as his abdomen coils tight and hot. It doesn't take long before he spills into capitulation inside you, filling your womb with another round of his spend as he drawls out a low moan. 

When he's emptied himself inside, Daishou lets himself fall back next to you on your abused bed, breathing deeply. You can feel his come dripping from your thighs and you can't tell if it's disgust or elation that's festering in your chest. You turn to look at him. Usually, Daishou always had a shit-eating grin plastered all over his face whenever he finished filling you with his seed—it's a pride thing, he said once. But when your gaze shifts back to his exhausted frame beside you, he's staring up at the ceiling like it has the answers for all his questions. 

"How do _you_ live with it?" he asks hoarsely without looking at you. 

You groan as you attempt to sit upright, looking down at the bruises he left in his wake. "What do you mean?" 

"How do you live with the guilt?" he says more specifically, and you raise your brows in surprise when he clarifies. 

"Barely," you tell him, eyes shifting to the broken picture frame on the floor. Shards litter the surface and you'll have to clean that up a little later. But you're momentarily distracted by the way the glass splinters the photo inside the frame with cracks and uneven jags. Kuroo's wearing the smile you fell in love with—the one that makes his eyes disappear. He had one arm slung across your shoulder as you grinned at the camera, holding up a stuffed cat he won for you when you went to the carnival one summer. The sight lances through your chest. This is probably all that's left of your relationship with him, isn't it? Jagged cracks and memories so distant, you barely remember the last time you felt loved.

But even though Daishou came along, the love he gives you still isn't the kind you're looking for.

"You know," you begin, "sometimes when you act all possessive with me in the heat of the moment, I think you're not actually talking to _me_ in your head." 

Daishou snorts out a laugh, draping an arm over his eyes. "Am I that obvious?" 

"Like crystal," you drawl. 

He laughs again, it sounds a bit breathier this time, but also a little more strained. "I'm sorry."

You slap his chest lightly. "The fuck are you apologising for?" 

"Don't take me for a fool," he says, getting up so he could face you. Daishou's hair fringes over his face, slightly obscuring the regret that's dancing across his eyes. "I see the way you look at me, you know. It's kind of the same way you used to look at that idiot house cat before we started fucking around." 

You scoff. "No need to paint me to be such a hopeless romantic, you asshole." 

He smiles. It looks a bit pained, but he smiles, gaze lingering at the mess of shards on the floor. "All that big-talk about poetic justice from me and _I'm_ the one who couldn't unlove the person who betrayed me." 

You didn't expect for him to feel the way you do. With such fucked up foundations, a relationship between the both of you would only go into ruin, if not worse. But you don't tell Daishou any of that, opting to leave his proclamation hanging in the air along with the smell of sex and debauchery. You've done this with him more times than you could count, but this is the only instance when both of you were a little more honest with your feelings. 

Both of you get dressed in silence, but not exactly the uncomfortable kind. Daishou helps you clean up the broken frame, while you made your bed. Outside, the rain has come to an end, and the setting sun could be seen splintering light through the clouds in the distance. Daishou offers to take you out for dinner, but you politely decline, insisting that you have some readings you have to catch up on. You know for one that he's going to go back home to Mika once he leaves, so you'd rather not hinder him from going where he actually wants to be. Once he exits your apartment, the sound of the door closing shut rings in your ears so loud, it almost gives you a headache.

You're alone again, as you always have been in the past few months. But the silence is filled when your phone rings by the dresser where you last placed it. 

"Hey, babe!" Kuroo greets cheerily. "Just finished studying with Kenma. Want to grab some dinner?" 

_Break up with him. He's not worth it. He doesn't love you—_

"Tetsurou, you left your jacket under the bed. Again," a small, feminine voice scolds on the other line. The sound is faint, and you nearly miss it (but you don't). A couple of noises follow after, like Kuroo is shielding his phone's microphone with one hand. 

After a few moments, he's back on the line and asks, "Well?" 

_Break up with him. He's not worth it. **He doesn't love you.**_

"Sure," you tell him, hoping he doesn't hear the way your voice cracks with emotion. "How's mackerel pike by the baywalk sound?" 

**Author's Note:**

> <s>This is my first proper attempt at smut please go easy on me.</s>
> 
> IDK WITH THIS ENDING TOO, don't ask me ! But hey, thanks for making it this far. I absolutely suck at writing smut and I figured if I wanted to get any better, I'll have to start practicing. Your feedback will be mUCH appreciated y'all don't even know


End file.
